Knowing You
by Lindir's Ghost
Summary: Rose gives Mickey his requested tour of the TARDIS following the Doctor's silent final return from C18th France... Suggested Ten/Rose


Hi there! Just a one-shot gap-filler type thingymabob, set at the very end of _Girl in the Fireplace_. I don't know, it came to me the other night, so I wrote it down. Please tell me what you think, and I hope you like my first Doctor Who story - oh, the characters of which I don't own, make no money from, yadda yadda yadda.  


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Knowing You

"And these are the bedrooms – got more in here than the Ritz!" Rose laughed as she flourished her hand at the varied doors, her footsteps clanging the grating with the unnaturally bouncy gait she had taken up. It wasn't her laugh, either. Not really. "If you keep going down that corridor, you come to the library. Mum wouldn't like it, no Mills and Boone in there…"

Mickey did not laugh. He couldn't. He held her in a level, serious gaze, a gaze he knew she was ignoring. This was painful, watching her do this. Sure, he knew he had _asked_ her to show him, but this was heartbreaking.

"Rose…"

She flashed him a brilliant smile, one that quivered and did not touch her eyes. Knowing the smile would not hold, she turned away, tossing her hair and proceeding down the corridor a little quicker than she meant, a slat of grilling making a jarred leap as a trainer impacted a little too hard. She did not pause to re-set it. He held back a moment, watching her retreating back, running away from him. She never used to run from him. Mickey followed, hands pocketed and brow furrowed.

Rose had made her way to what was obviously the kitchen, though she found it necessary, not talk _to_ him, but _at_ him, and stated that this _was_ the kitchen, just in case he hadn't guessed. "And the TARDIS can produce anything you want! No brands, though, but it tastes the same-" she hauled open a draw and snatched up a bar of chocolate. "See?" She took a massive bite, offering him the dog-eared remains. When he declined, she shrugged and crossed to the work surface. "Cuppa? There's always tea, he really likes tea now. Two-and-a-half sugars, like Mum makes…" Her voice tightened, and she stopped, just for a moment, to light the stove under the kettle. A shuddering breath, then: "You still take milk, yeah?"

Rather than an answer, Mickey placed his hand on her shoulder and gently turned her into his chest. She did not resist, and finally let the tears go, sobbing relentlessly into his T-shirt while he smoothed her hair. He had teased her about Sarah Jane, a little relentlessly, and he'd found it fun watching her jealousy flare like a sponge in red paint. But this was not the same.

It was obvious that the Doctor was hurting, and the reason for that hurt was in turn obvious. But the reason for that hurt had shattered Rose's heart like a phial under a hammer, Mickey knew, and that was unforgivable in his eyes. He wondered if the Doctor knew what he had done. Surely he couldn't; Mickey knew he would do anything for Rose … but this new version of him had an edge the other one had not. This edge bit, and deep, and right now, Rose was bleeding.

He swayed her gently, smoothing her hair and feeling his T-shirt dampening under the crush of her hurt. The context of the situation was too dark to allow him any pleasure from the contact, but to be there for her now was worth more to him than any superficial hug he knew had passed between them in more recent times, ghosts of former emotions on her part blushing out of embarrassment at the awkwardness of it all. He loved her, but not in the same way, not any more … but seeing her hurting because of something another man had done to her brought out the remains of the protective boyfriend. He had no idea how long they stood there, but whether it was a minute or an hour that had tiptoed passed meant nothing to his anger when he lifted his eyes to the doorway. He had known the Doctor was there watching for a while, watching Mickey the Idiot cradling the most recent in people he had hurt. And he hoped it stung him to see the Rose he supposedly cared for shielded in Mickey's arms, protected from any further damage he could lay on her. The sadness in the other man's face, the pain in the eyes, Mickey noted with satisfaction, certainly indicated so.

The Doctor stood with his hands in his pockets out of the kitchen light. The TARDIS dimmed his presence, as though trying to dampen his image from the scene. Even his own ship objected to his emotional carelessness towards his companion. And he felt her pain. With every fibre of his being, he felt her burning, all because of him. He had lost Reinette, but there was someone far closer he was under threat of losing, as completely as he had lost his little French courtesan. He knew, and by the stars, he returned it fully, but the fear pushed him away into stupid, _stupid_ acts. He had not thought of Rose when he jumped Arthur through the Time Window. That selfish desire of his to consume himself in anything that did not concern listening to his own hearts left Rose behind.

_ I'm sorry, Rose. So, so sorry_. His eyes met Mickey's. He felt the burn of the other's anger, and accepted it, accepted Mickey's right to judge him on how he had behaved. He dipped his head, too ashamed to look at her any more, letting the tear escape into the grilling. She was unaware of his presence, and that made it easier for him to move silently away, leaving her with someone who could comfort and protect her while he went away to think under the TARDIS flooring.

Mickey watched the Doctor's back retreat quietly down the corridor, waiting for him to be gone. Then: "Cuppa?"

Rose sniffed, drawing away from him and smiling waveringly. "Please." She looked over at the doorway, and Mickey did not mistake the longing in her glance. "Make three?"

He nodded his 'yes,' and she smiled at him softly. "Thank you."

Rose wiped her face over, taking a shuddering breath, and then made her way to the Control Room. He watched her go, a massive part of him wanting to stop her, wanting to hold her again and never let her go. Instead, he made the tea. He was good at tea.


End file.
